


Virtues and Impulses

by bellalinguista



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romance, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-03-23 12:19:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3767929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellalinguista/pseuds/bellalinguista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the war, Peggy unexpectedly found herself falling in love with not just a good soldier, but a good man. As she finally begins to let him go, Peggy finds herself falling again with one Angie Martinelli.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Humilitas & Superbia

**Author's Note:**

> The main plot is set after the events of Agent Carter whilst the flashbacks occur during Captain America: the First Avenger.

_“In the middle of the journey of life, I came to myself within a dark wood where the straight way was lost.” – Dante Alighieri_

 

By the time Peggy returned home from her sentimental trip to the Brooklyn Bridge where she witnessed the day's setting sun, evening had fallen upon the city. Instead of coming straight home, Peggy had found herself wandering, aimlessly at that.

 

Eventually, she had wandered into her new neighborhood and had convinced herself to continue on. If this is where she would be living, she might as well get to know the area. Taking mental notes as she had gone along, Peggy returned home with a list of establishments she would have to frequent later and see if her dear roommate would be interesting in tagging along.

 

Speaking of her dear roommate..

 

"Peg, is that you?"

 

"Yes, Angie!" Peggy called back.

 

As soon as Peggy closed the door behind her, she saw Angie peeking her head out from one of the rooms - the library, if her memory served her well.

 

Most definitely the library, as confirmed as Angie stepped into the hallway with a book in hand.

 

"Mr. Fancy wasn't kidding about that collection!" Angie gushed. "My reading list's a mile long now."

 

"It seems you're already decided where to start though," Peggy commented as she undid her coat, gesturing towards the book in Angie's hand.

 

Angie glanced down at the book and then back at Peggy, nodding. "Yeah, have you heard of it? _The Divine Comedy_ , by Dante Alighieri. Thankfully, it's in English - I can't read Italian to save my life."

 

As Angie held out the book, Peggy felt the blood in her veins quickly grow ice cold. Her expression, stoic, but Angie, also preoccupied by the title, missed it. By the time she looked up at Peggy again, Peggy was forcing a smile and nodded.

 

"Why it's called a comedy, though, is beyond me," Angie said, scrunching her nose. "It's a journey through Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, right?"

 

"Actually, it was originally called _Commedia_ , but that doesn't really answer the question, does it?" Peggy answered. "It's a comedy based on the medieval sense of the word - a medieval narrative that ends happily. I believe word _Divinia_ was added later, by another Italian author. I don't recall the name."

 

Angie's eyebrows rose, impressed. "Well, look at you, English. Did they teach you that at your fancy boarding school?"

 

Peggy forced a laugh, "No, I was told by an old friend - he's an Italian literature enthusiast of sorts."

 

An old friend from the war - a member of the Howling Commandos, to be exact - Dino Manelli. Whether or not he actually was an enthusiast of any sort of literature, Peggy didn't know.

 

The two things she did know for certain was that good ol' Dino could quote Dante's _Inferno_ quite well, which he often compared the war to such, and that he had abandoned a promising movie career to join the war effort after the attack on Pearl Harbor ("I could have been Dracula in Hitchcock's new film," he'd often point out).

 

"Huh, well, Papà's always spitting out quotes from it, I figure I'd give it a shot," Angie said. "Actually, he only quotes this one part: 'Abandon every hope, you who enter.' Sounds kind of menacing, really."

 

Peggy could still hear Dino, in Italian, reciting the same line, which he would say nearly every time the Howling Commandos would leave for a mission.

 

_Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate._

 

"It most definitely should - it's engraved on the gates of hell. Or so I'm told," Peggy replied before changing the topic of conversation. "It's been a long day, with the move and all. I think I'm going to head off to bed early."

 

"Aw, Peg, what about dinner?" Angie asked. "I can whip us up something really quick - won't take too long."

 

With a generous smile, Peggy shook her head, "That's alright, truly it is. I'm not hungry and I'd much rather go to sleep."

 

"Okay, but if you change your mind, I'll leave you a plate," Angie insisted.

 

"That's sweet of you, dear. Enjoy your book."

 

"Something tells me I'm not gonna like the first third."

 

"Good night, Angie," Peggy chuckled.

 

**xxxx**

 

_Peggy clutched the cold metal of her Sten submachine-gun which she held close to her body, ready to quickly aim and fire at a moments notice, should the need arise. Each step she took forward was slow, calculated. As she walked, Peggy tried to make as little noise as possible against the uneven cobblestone road made narrow by the conjoined homes, often two stories, on each side._

 

_The windows and doors were boarded up. Flower beds and pots empty, or what little evidence of plants or floral remained withered into decay._

 

_There was no sign of life, none at all. The small Italian village was empty. Void and colorless - even the blue sky was grey. The entire town was a shadow of its former self, turned into nothing, ravaged by war. These streets were once home to hard working families, people who would stroll down to the bakery for a loaf of bread, to the local bar for a cup of coffee, or the communale piazza for social gatherings._

 

_But now? Now, it was completely empty, occupied by no one but ghosts who watched as help arrived too late._

 

_And it was eerily silent. For as silent as it was, there was no peace. This was not a place familiar with the concept of peace._

 

_All she could hear was the loud beating of her heart, pounding painfully in her chest as anxiety threatened to suffocate her._

 

_This place… this place void of all color and all life… no, this place did not know peace. This place knew death._

 

_This place was too quiet for her own liking. It was the type of silence which caused one's ears to ring._

 

_And the ringing was only getting louder._

 

_How could silence be so deafening?_

 

_She felt a light gust brush past the side of her head, as though someone had leaned in close and whispered into her ear. Peggy shivered, but did not falter, even when an disembodied voice croaked._

 

'Per me si va ne la città dolente.'

 

_With chills running down her spine and the hair on the back of her neck standing on end, Peggy immediately whirled around. The silencer of her submachine-gun collided against an invisible solid object. The jolt of the impact caused the weapon to fire on its own accord. The bullet ricocheted against a metal sign at the end of the street._

 

_There was no one there._

 

_But that was not possible._

 

_No, she distinctly felt her gun collided with whoever - whatever - had standing behind her. If that wasn’t enough evidence, that she, herself, felt the collision, the damn jolt had also caused the gun to fire for Peggy did not pull the trigger._

 

_Whether the blast or the collision surprised her, Peggy could not say._

 

_It was a fault of these damned Sten submachine-guns. They were incredibly cheap to produce, but sometimes even the tiniest of accidental bumps would cause the damn thing to go off unexpectedly._

 

_Just as it had._

 

_And it would have hit its mark. It would have hit whoever, whatever, had been standing behind her - or come pretty damn close._

 

_But there was no one there._

 

_Her eyes darted back and forth, trying to pick up any form of movement Peggy could have earlier missed. Perhaps a swinging door? Or a window pane? But she did not find a trace of anything. There wasn’t anything to find, for that matter. Everything was still._

 

_Everything was frozen, abandoned, and untouched._

 

 

_And yet._

 

‘Per me si va ne l’etterno dolore.’

 

_That voice again! This time, however, it was more of a hushed whisper, once more behind her. Pivoting off her left foot, Peggy swung herself around on her heel. This time, her weapon did not hit anything. It did not fire._

 

_But that did not stop Peggy from being surprised once again._

 

_The narrow cobblestone street lined with its clustered buildings and home was no more. The town had disappeared._

 

_Now standing on a dirt, uphill path, Peggy felt herself stop breathing as her eyes landed on the gated cemetery on top of the small hill. She'd much rather still be on in futile search for God knows what, slowly proceeding through the ghost town, which now rested at the bottom of the hill. Instead, Peggy found herself here, alone, standing close to evidence that demonstrated how much evil man was capable of committing._

 

_The high walls of the cemetery and its massive doors, bolted shut, kept its secrets hidden, but Peggy knew what laid on the other side._

 

_She remembered._

 

_As much as she didn't want it to be so, she remembered it quite vividly._

 

_The inhuman silence was now replaced by the shaking and screeching of the metal door hinges, the scratching of fingernails against rotting wood. The door pushed forward with a loud bang, but the bolt kept it in locked firmly in place._

 

_Peggy held on to her weapon tighter, as though that were at all possible._

 

_The soft cries for help amplified as voices filled with sheer panic rang out. Instinct told her to run forward, to unbolt the door, and to help, but Peggy found herself unable to move. Her legs would not - refused - to carry her forward._

 

_As the bullets from automatic enemy weapons rang out, the panicked voices and cries turned to curtly screams. Moans threatened to keep the silence at bay, but it soon made its returned after precise single gun shots fired out._

 

_She released a shaking breath. When Peggy inhaled again, she wished she hadn't: gunpowder and coppery iron - blood, all coming from the confined cemetery._

 

‘Per me si va tra la perduta gente.’

 

_Peggy nearly jumped out of her skin. The voice was booming, coming from behind the walls. Pounding against the wooden gate caused it to jerk forward with great vigor, stressing away the locked bolts until they ripped away from the aging wood._

 

_She lifted her weapon, steadied her aim._

 

_For a moment, the now unlocked gate stood still._

 

_Peggy knew better than to let her guard down._

 

_One final blow from behind caused the gates to swing open, revealing a single man - no, he wasn't old enough to be a man. An adolescent, at best. His dark hair was matted and blood trickled down his face, over his cold and vacant eyes. It continued down and stained his once white shirt. The bottom of which was torn apart, ripped away by enemy bullets that had also mangled his abdomen. Muscle, guts, and intestines spewed forth as he took a step forward, towards Peggy._

 

_The trigger, Peggy told herself. Pull the damn trigger._

 

_He lifted his hand slowly, reaching for her. As he approached, he opened his mouth, releasing the voice that had whispered into her ear, the voice that had boomed from behind the gate - his voice - screeched._

 

‘Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate.’

 

"Peggy?"

 

Another voice - this was much softer, gentler than the foreign whispers and screams - shook her away from her dream. With a jolt, Peggy awoke and in one swift movement, she was sitting upright in her bed, her loaded colt revolver aimed and ready to fire.

 

Hands immediately in the air, Angie froze at the sight of the handgun that had emerged from under her roommate's pillow, her eyes wide with fright.

 

It took Peggy a moment to register the scene. "Oh, God, Angie," she exhaled when she finally realized that, no, she was most definitely not in a war ridden Europe. The war, she remembered herself, was over. She was back in New York. Peggy was home, in bed, in the middle of the night.

 

And she could have nearly shot her housemate.

 

She lowered the gun.

 

"Angie, I'm so sorry."

 

**xxxx**

 

_"Where's this pilot? He's late. Are you sure he'll show?"_

 

_As soon as they had gotten out of earshot of the camp, Steve fired off question after question._

 

_"Howard will show," Peggy insisted._

 

_"But what if he doesn't? I'll take that motorbike-"_

 

_"He will show."_

 

_They spoke in hushed whispered, standing alone in the dark of the rather chilly Italian evening, away from the allied station camp and, hopefully, from overhearing ears._

 

_The mission Agent Carter was leading Captain America into wasn't sanctioned._

 

_There was a good chance Colonel Phillips would have their neck for this - perhaps not Steve's. He was America's golden poster boy, afterall. They would not dare discharge their only super soldier. But Carter? Colonel Phillips would hang her out to dry in a second._

 

_Steve would probably be sent back to the States to sing and dance about war bonds on a second tour._

 

_Which probably would serve as his own form of punishment._

 

_Although she could barely make him out, Peggy could feel him shifting about. He was antsy. He couldn't stand still. Peggy couldn't blame him - this would be the first time he would be out in the field. And he would also be alone, at that._

 

_"How are you feeling?" she asked, concerned. Throughout the war so far, she had seen nerves defeat soldiers time and time again. Heaven forbid that nerves would do the same to Steve._

 

_"Great," he automatically responded._

 

_"How are you really feeling?"_

 

_"This is what I wanted. This is why I signed up in the first place - to serve my country and help my fellow soldiers out. I want to stop the bullies," Steve explained._

 

_She knew Steve couldn't see her - or maybe he could, she wasn't entirely aware of the effects of the serum - but Peggy nodded. She remembered reading something similar in his file: 'I don't like bullies.' Among the piles of 'I want to kill those Nazis' from Project Rebirth, it indeed stuck out from the rest._

 

_"And I made a promise to a friend," Steve added after a moment._

 

_"Sergeant Barnes? He must be a really good friend."_

 

_"He's the only one I got and I ain't giving up on him that easily. He's out there, alive. I know it and I'm not coming back without him, or the rest of the 107th."_

 

_"For someone about to head into a lot of uncertainty, you're anything but, Captain Rogers," Peggy pointed out. "A lot of men would be afraid, you know. They wouldn't dare go behind enemy lines alone."_

 

_She heard a huff of breath - he was holding back a laugh. She was almost certain that silenced laugh was followed by a lopsided smile, one she would not have minded seeing, but given their current… circumstances, she would have to pass for now._

 

_"I'm not saying I'm not afraid," Steve corrected earnestly. "I am, but… it's how someone confronts that fear and uncertainty that should define them - not the actual fear itself."_

 

_"Has anyone told you how humble you are?"_

 

_"I can't say that anyone has -- do you hear that? Is that an engine?" Steve questioned._

 

_She couldn't hear anything just yet. "That's probably our ride," Peggy assumed. They would be taken to a private hangar where they would meet Howard who would then get them up in the air and where they really needed to be. At least, where Steve really needed to be._

 

_"And if it isn't?" he asked, concerned._

 

 _"Well, we_ do _have guns," Peggy reminded._

 

**xxxx**

 

"So you and Captain America," Angie murmured.

 

Peggy nodded along.

 

It was late and only getting later as the night progressed, but Peggy promised she would tell Angie everything - as long as it wasn't classified government information.

 

These late hours of the night, or hours of the early morning… These hours were the someday Peggy promised after being pulled through Angie's window in her room at the Griffith.

 

Peggy didn't think someday would have came so soon.

 

"That God-awful radio program-"

 

" _Thrillingly realistic,_ " Peggy commented with just a hint of annoyance before looking down at her lap, still covered by the bedsheets.

 

"Have I ever told you I auditioned to be a dancer for that tour?" Angie brought up. "Didn't make the cut, but could you imagine if I had? Wonder what it would have been like - us, I mean. Meeting back then."

 

"It would have been… different," Peggy replied, her voice trailing off.

 

Indeed, it would have been. The person she had been during the war was not the same person sitting on this bed, doing her best to make things up to her roommate and revealing a side of herself she had barely acknowledged verbally.

 

Silence overcame the both of them. They sat without saying a word in the poorly lit bedroom. Usually, it was a welcoming silence, peaceful, as they enjoyed each other's company, but this… this was different. This was awkward.

 

And Peggy did not like it one bit, even though she was the impetus behind it.

 

Peggy looked up from her lap. Angie was still sitting at the end of the bed, on the edge of the mattress. The light emitting from Peggy's nightstand lamp showed her that Angie was staring off into the distance, perhaps still reeling from what Peggy revealed about the war, but Peggy couldn't be certain.

 

She wanted to say something, but she wasn't exactly sure what would be appropriate.

 

"You also fought along side of him," Angie finally spoke up again. She shifted slightly on the bed and turned to face Peggy. "Jesus, Peg, were you on the frontline?"

 

"I took part in some battles, yes," she answered honestly.

 

Angie glanced down for a moment and when she met Peggy's gaze again, her expression had changed. Her eyes had grown soft. She was frowning. If she could have, Angie probably would have reached out to hold Peggy's hand, but, well… Peggy assumed Angie was still a bit jumpy herself - something to do with the loaded handgun to Peggy's right.

 

"Those nightmares - do you get 'em often?" Angie asked. "I don't think I've ever seen someone thrashing about like that before."

 

After a pause, Peggy shook her head, "No, not often." They occurred with less frequency now. They had been extremely terrible when she first came back to New York City after the end of the war, but she still couldn't bring herself to tell Angie about earlier this evening, about her visit to the Brooklyn Bridge - or how she was actually familiar with Dante's _Divine Comedy._

 

There were still some things Peggy needed to keep private, for the time being. Just one of those events was probably enough to fuel the nightmare, let alone both.

 

"I'm sorry, I truly am," Peggy apologized once again. She picked up the gun and hid it away in the draw of the nightstand. "Had I know it was you, I wouldn't have-"

 

"Well, of course you wouldn't have," Angie interrupted. "But, honestly, is it necessary for you to sleep with that thing?"

 

"You have no idea how dangerous Dottie truly is," Peggy insisted.

 

Angie looked away again, shaking her head. "Never pegged Iowa to be some super secret assassin," she murmured. "There's never a dull moment with you, is there, English?" she spoke up, glancing over at Peggy with a faint smile.

 

It was one Peggy matched and returned.

 

"Coming from the actress who had a getaway car ready for someone who was wanted by federal agents," Peggy shot back.

 

Good, the bantering was returning.

 

"What if I had been an actual criminal?" Peggy added. "Do you know what you wouldn't been charged with?"

 

Angie shrugged her shoulders. "Doesn't matter," she replied. "Mamma and Papà've taught me that we gotta take care of the people we care about - no questions asked."

 

"That's rather-"

 

"So, these meatheads you call coworkers," Angie interrupted. "They know what you did during the war and they still treated you like a secretary?"

 

A bit befuddled, Peggy leaned back, resting herself against the headrest of the bed. Now it was her turn to shrug her shoulders after she had nodded to Angie's question. "During the war, we all felt a sense of purpose - I know I certainly did," she said. "Everything was done with a sense of pride, knowing what we were doing was the right thing to do. We were making a difference. _I_ was making a difference."

 

Now it was Angie who nodded along.

 

"After the war ended, after I came back to New York, it wasn't as terrible," Peggy admitted. "Although I wasn't in the field, I was still working on classified code breaking for the other agents. I took pride in myself those first couple moments, but it quickly wore off. It's a rather hard mentality to uphold, you know. Feeling pride in one's work when one's work becomes taking the whole office's lunch orders."

 

"I hear ya, English.."

 

Bringing her hand up to cover her mouth, Peggy's eyes grew wide, "I'm sorry! I wasn't thinking! I didn't mean to offend-!"

 

"Are you kidding me? I ain't offend in the least," Angie quickly replied, waving a hand at her. "I'll soon stop taking lunch orders myself - just you wait and see. Broadway has to come knocking sooner or later. I just hope it's not later."

 

Peggy's shoulders fell slightly out of relief. After tonight's excitement, the last thing she wanted to do was accidentally insult Angie. It had already been a hell of a night.

 

"Someone incredibly clever once told me we all have to pay our dues," Peggy pointed out.

 

"After what I've seen and heard her tonight, you've already paid plenty," Angie remarked, tone incredibly serious. It quickly softened. "You gonna be okay, Pegs?"

 

"I have been doing quite well."

 

"I mean, tonight," Angie explained. "For the rest of it, anyway."

 

"I don't expect to sleep much," Peggy answered truthfully. "But I suspect I will be fine."

 

Then, the silence returned in all its awkward glory. Perhaps that wasn't the answer Angie had been expecting and, judging by her next question, Peggy believed it probably truly wasn't.

 

"Would you feel better if I stayed?" Angie offered. "I mean, when I was little and I had nightmares, my oldest brother would stay with me - said he'd protect me from the monsters. I know now monsters don't exist - not those monsters anyway, but it always made me feel safe."

 

For a moment, Peggy watched her, contemplating her offer. It was absolutely silly, yet laced with a sense of mystery and darkness. Not those monsters anyway. Peggy knew how hard it was to keep her secrets, to carry unrecognizable burdens, in her line of work. So much so that it blinded her from something rather important: she wasn't the only one to do so.

 

Angie Martinelli had her own secrets, ones that she was slowly revealing in little, short glimpses. If Peggy wasn't completely paying attention, she would miss them.

 

Not those monsters anyway.

 

Peggy must have stayed quiet for too long.

 

"Right, like I can protect a secret agent," Angie said, pushing herself up from the bed.

 

"No, wait!" Peggy called out before clearing her throat and lowering her voice. "I mean, no, umm. Angie, that actually sounds lovely - you know, not being alone."

 

Angie hovered and smiled weakly, not having expected the sudden burst or having her ridiculous little proposition be accepted. She made her way to the other side of the bed and crawled right in, making herself at home under the covers.

 

"It's gonna be okay, Peggy," she said softly.

 

**_To Be Continued..._ **


	2. Caritas and Avaritia

Even with her fierce protector who had swore to keep the monsters from the nightmares at bay, Peggy did not manage to fall back asleep that night, or whatever had been left of it.

 

She was a light sleeper, but she would have stayed awake for the remainder of the night regardless of Angie's presence and her rather remarkable blanket stealing abilities.

 

If there was something certain that Peggy had learned about Angie in the last few hours, it was this: Angie had a tight grip of steel.

 

About an hour ago, she had stopped trying to recover them all together. They were now Angie's, tangled around her small frame from her own tossing and turning, clasped in a grasp that could not be broken, and Peggy simply accepted that fate.

 

She had to.

 

It was not that chilly anyway, Peggy reasoned with herself. She had experienced colder. Much colder, at that.

 

Such the winter she spent living in the sewers of the city, for example.

 

Or even the time where she found herself in the Soviet Union.

 

As she was well aware, this, in retrospect, was nothing in comparison.

 

She could handle being blanket-less, she concluded with a disgruntled huff.

 

She just did not _want_ to.

 

Peggy laid awake in bed, not daring to move in case Angie was also a light sleeper herself. There was no point in both of them being even more tired whenever they would finally decide to get out of bed. Not having much to do in her current predicament, Peggy stared up at the high ceiling and did her absolute best not to blink.

 

Whenever she blinked, she was taken back _there_.

 

To that dreaded hilltop that overlooked the countryside that now concealed battlefields.

 

Each blink brought her back to that cemetery.

 

_Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate._

 

Abandon all hope, you who enter.

 

There had been no hope that day; their enemy saw to it that any sign of such a thing had been immediately relinquished without a trace.

 

War was hell, to which Peggy would agree, having fought through it, and that statement rang even truer that day as she, the Howling Commandos, and Steve combed their way through a small village that now no longer existed.

 

They each lost a part of themselves that awful day, even if they would not readily admit it. Nothing could have prepared them for what they saw, for what would haunt them for the rest of their days, probably.

 

Peggy did not doubt it.

 

Angie shifted, only slightly at first, but then rolled over altogether, inching herself closer to Peggy. The movement did not end there. Angie then slung her arm around Peggy’s waist. Peggy held her breath for a short moment as Angie pulled herself even closer, cuddling against Peggy's side as she remained asleep.

 

Involuntarily, Peggy's lips thinned into a smile as gazed down at Angie, who did not show any signs of waking any time soon. This was leading Peggy to believe that Angie was not a light sleeper at all. How she greedily wished she could sleep like a lump on a log like the younger woman who was still oblivious to the rest of the world as she slumbered peacefully.

 

Angie's embrace grew tighter around Peggy as she made herself more comfortable. She rested her head on top of Peggy's shoulder, now foregoing her pillow altogether, and mumbled something under her breathe; Peggy was not able to make it out. It sounded like complete gibberish.

 

Perhaps it was not as peaceful as Peggy imagined.

 

_...not those monsters, anyway…_

 

They each had their own set of demons to face.

 

Peggy would not wish hers onto someone else - certainly not on Angie - and, with the increasingly amount of time Peggy spent with her, she would assume Angie would not wish her own on others either.

 

There was definitely a lot more to Angie and Peggy had only been granted a small peek, hasn’t she?

 

She was only aware of a few sides to Angie: there was the bouncy, eccentric automat waitress who had been blind sighted when her cousin was struck by a bus after knocking off a newstand. There was also the stubbornly headstrong actress who could summon a getaway car to sneak people out of the city, if need be. More recently, Peggy had become aware of the little girl who needed her older brother to square the monsters in the closet and under the bed away, but needed her own strength to combat the others - the other monsters. Finally, Peggy also knew of the concerned roommate who could stand at gunpoint without even the smallest of flinches.

 

_Papà's always spitting out quotes from it - actually, he only quotes this one part: 'Abandon every hope, you who enter.'_

 

Peggy Carter had her own secrets, ones that she had bent over backwards to keep and conceal until this evening.

 

And so did Angie Martinelli, but the thing was… Angie was still bending.

 

Angie offered to be her protector, a role Peggy had taken on herself when they first met that faithful day Peggy decided to frequent one of the city's many automats. Their definitions varied a bit (drastically, more like it): Peggy's own involved pushing those she cared for away whereas Angie's…

 

Angie's meant embrace. She embraced those she cared for.

 

Very literally, at that.

 

Perhaps Peggy should take a leaf out of Angie's book because, well, Peggy could get used to this: being close to another person - or, at least, allowing herself to be close to another person. She hadn't allowed herself to do such a thing in a long time.

 

It was nice.

 

She had forgotten.

 

Unable to keep them open any longer, her eyelids were starting to droop with heaviness, just as the morning sun began to peek through the curtains of the room's window. Oh, this definitely would not do. She would have to pick a room on the other side of the mansion otherwise… she would be up with the sun in the rare mornings she allowed herself to sleep in.

 

But for now, as she finally allowed herself to rest in this sweet, warm embrace, it was no bother - something that could easily be overlooked.

 

Angie shifted again, this time only to snuggle even closer against Peggy's shoulder. Peggy rested her cheek against the top of Angie's head. Peggy placed her arm on top of Angie's that held her. Angie hummed softly in her sleep at Peggy's touch, but other than that, she did not stir.

 

Peggy smiled, eyes coming to a close as she finally welcomed sleep.

 

This was something she could get used to, Peggy told herself once again. In fact, it was, indeed, something that she wanted - to be surrounded by this strong sense of such unlimited loving kindness towards all others, by such benevolence and generosity in times when Peggy believed she deserved none.

 

She wanted more of these little moments where nothing else mattered and everything was tranquil, where they were the only two people in the entire world.

 

**xxxx**

 

_Colonel Phillips had dropped the folder onto her desk with a rather loud and impressive 'thump.' If that had not given away the fact that he had been a bit aggravated, his stern expression and clenched jaw had._

 

_Peggy's only response had been a raised eyebrow._

 

_The Howling Commandos had returned from their latest mission. It had not been a raging success, but it had been a success nonetheless. They had stopped enemy advancement, just as they had been assigned. It could have, however, gone more smoothly._

 

_They had barely made it back to headquarters before having decided to have a couple of rounds at the nearest pub, to where they had all taken off, all but Rogers._

 

_No, instead, Peggy, as Colonel Phillips had instructed, would find Captain Rogers in the infirmary where his injury would be better attended to - one of the Commandos had patched him up in the field._

 

_Peggy was to see to it that the incident report was filled and done properly. The Colonel had left, to return to his own work, whilst mumbling something about the recklessness of America's golden boy under his breathe._

 

_After making her way down to the infirmary, one of the nurses had lead her to the room where another was taking care of Captain Rogers. Peggy had then been asked to wait outside, in the hallway. It had seemed that Captain Rogers had been an ideal patient, up until the point Peggy had made her entrance. All of a suddenly, the Captain had begun to fidget and had found it difficult to sit still._

 

_She had been told it wouldn't not be much longer and it hadn't been. Soon enough, Peggy had been allowed back into the room._

 

_"It was nothing," Steve said, wincing as he tried to slip his injured left arm through the sleeve of his shirt._

 

_"You'll rip your stitches - again," Peggy warned sternly._

 

_Setting the folder down on the chair near the doorway, Peggy walked up to the edge of the bed, where Steve was sitting, to help him back into his button up shirt. When she took a step back, he was noticeably blushing._

 

_It was endearing, really._

 

_"A gunshot to the shoulder is not nothing," Peggy chastised._

 

_"Yeah? How'd you know?" Steve challenged, feeling a bit braver than he should have. This, too, was also endearing, albeit a bit of annoying._

 

_Without skipping a beat, Peggy replied, "I've had two of my own - right shoulder, within an inch of each other." She turned around to backtrack her steps and fetch the folder._

 

_She could hear the frantic in his voice as his swiftly apologized, repeatedly. Peggy waved it off, no offense taken._

 

_Steve followed his apology with a question, "How were you shot twice though?"_

 

_"Have you already forgotten that I've been fighting this war longer than you?" Peggy asked in return._

 

_"I'm sorry," Steve apologized again._

 

_Peggy shook her head and fought back a laugh. How many more times would he say he's sorry? He had done no wrong - just tried to play off the seriousness of his injury, something she had seen a few times throughout the years. Steve was even probably right - perhaps, due to the serum, this injury was nothing. He would certainly heal a lot faster than she did._

 

_She sat down in the chair and opened the folder, bringing pen to paper._

 

_"I can do my own paperwork," Steve quickly said, standing up._

 

_"I believe Colonel Phillips would have given it to you then, if that were the case," Peggy pointed out, glancing up at him._

 

_He was smirking._

 

_He was still that small, little man who had thrown himself on what he thought was a live grenade._

 

_Of course he was._

 

_"I think we both know that I'm probably not in his good graces at the moment," he remarked._

 

_"I'd have to agree with you. Do you mind telling me what happened? It seemed things were going quite well, until you -"_

 

_"Until I did the right thing," Steve interrupted, sitting back down on the edge of the bed._

 

_"And what was that?" Peggy inquired, not looking up from the papers in the folder._

 

_For a moment, Steve didn't say a word. He didn't begin to speak again until Peggy met his eye._

 

_"Just when we thought it was all over and we were heading to the rendezvous point, we were ambushed by the enemy - a small group that had evaded us earlier, I guess," he said. "Their first shot hit one of our men. He'd fallen and… and I wasn't going to leave him behind. It was the right thing to do."_

 

_"What did you do?" Peggy asked._

 

_"I shielded him while the Commandos did what they do best," Steve answered, shrugging his good shoulder lightly. "The gunshots sounded like they were coming from everywhere. I did my best, but I got nicked - it's nothing compared to his injury. The nurse said they doctors are working on him, that they're doing their best. They are, aren't they?"_

 

_Peggy nodded, "Of course, they are."_

 

_Steve mimicked Peggy's nodding. "Good, because I'm a man of my word, but… I'd be glad if this is a promise I don't have to keep."_

 

_"You do make a lot of promises," Peggy teased lightly. "What was it this time?"_

 

_"That I'd take a message back home to his family, personally," Steve replied, looking down at his hands on his lap for a second. "I told him I'd rather if he'd do it himself, but I'd do it if I had to. We'd got to talking on the plane ride over. He has a family waiting for him back in New York - a little brother and sister that he still needs to take to the zoo, a father who's incredibly proud, and a mother sick with worry. I wasn't going to abandon him out there, Peggy."_

 

_"I know, Steve, and he'll be alright," Peggy reassured. "We have the best medics here. Without a doubt, he'll be able to take his siblings to the zoo."_

 

_Steve nodded along as he stood up once more. Peggy stood as well, just as Steve crossed the room, ready to leave at least this portion of the infirmary. He held his hand out towards her, gesturing towards the folder._

 

_"I'm gonna be waiting around anyway, for the doctors to finish up," Steve pointed out._

 

_She handed it to him before they both took a step into the hallway._

 

_"But, uh, do you mind delivering it to the Colonel for me?"_

 

_Peggy could not help but smirked._

 

**xxxx**

 

It did not take long for Peggy and Angie to repurpose the second living room. Angie had asked why they – or anyone – needed a second one anyway. Peggy could clearly hear Howard’s cheeky answer in her head. It was an answer that she had kept it to herself.

It was also the same answer that had reappeared when Angie questioned the necessity of so many rooms for just one man and his wife. Once more, Peggy had kept said answer to herself, but Angie couldn’t have been so oblivious to Howard’s reputation. It was a reputation that was often featured in the papers.

After they had settled into their bedrooms, they had decided to lock up the others – sans one which would serve as a guest room, should the need for one ever arise.

 

In the couple of weeks that passed, they had kept to themselves in their newly claimed rooms. Peggy had not dared to be so forward, even though she had quite enjoyed their sweet first morning together in their new home.

_The curtains were still drawn, but Peggy could feel the warmth of the late morning sun seeping through as she slowly woke from the most welcoming uneventful slumber._

_Peggy curled up into herself, not yet wanting to wake – why should she? It was not as though she had somewhere to be today._

_As she shifted, Peggy felt the blanket that now covered her; in its return, it had been pulled up to her shoulders._

 

_Her eyes fluttering open, Peggy realized that she wasn’t as cold anymore - that the blanket thief had returned what was rightfully hers. Or rather, the thief had returned what should have been rightfully shared by those occupying the bed._

 

_“Morning,” Angie’s voice said softly, cautious as to not disrupt. “Take it you slept a bit better?”_

 

_Involuntarily smiling, Peggy rolled over to face Angie. “And how, exactly, did you know I wasn't still sleeping?” she murmured, still struggling to wake._

 

_“Lucky guess,” Angie shrugged. “The last time I said good morning, you replied with a snore-”_

 

_“I do not snore!” Peggy protested with a huff, now wide awake._

 

_Angie grinned widely, “Whatever you say, but just so you know, this secret is also safe with me”_

 

_"There is no secret."_

 

_"Again, whatever you say," Angie repeated, suppressing a giggle._

 

_Then, there was silence. They laid in bed, quiet, enjoying what Peggy guessed was the late morning._

 

_"Have you been up long?" Peggy asked, curious. "I'm surprised you aren't wandering the rest of the mansion."_

 

_Angie shrugged her shoulders, "Plenty of time to wander and figure this place out - we'll be living here after all, right? Besides, I promised I was gonna protect you, so here I am. You ain't getting rid of me."_

 

_"Nor do I ever plan to," Peggy remarked. "You've really sweet, Angie."_

 

_It was quiet again. It was a peaceful silence, a more enjoyable silence than that shared in the middle of the night, in the few short moments that occurred after Angie had freed Peggy from the realm of her nightmares._

 

_“Have you ever been to the zoo, English? The one in Central Park?” Angie spoke up. The question came out of the blue._

 

_“I have yet to set foot in Central Park,” Peggy confessed._

 

_Her confession was met with a surprised gasp, as though she had caused a great offense._

 

_“How long have you been in the city?” Angie questioned. “The park is one of the first places tourist flock to. There and the Statue of Liberty.”_

 

_Peggy huffed, “I’d like to think myself as an inhabitant of this city instead of a tourist, thank you.”_

 

_“But you haven’t been-”_

 

_“Have you?” Peggy shot back teasingly, bracing herself for an exasperated ‘English, are you kidding me’ or whatever colorful expression she was about to throw her way._

 

_“Nope.”_

 

_Furrowing her eyebrows and frowning, Peggy propped herself up on her elbow to look down at Angie. “Dear, weren’t you born here? I’ve at least hopped across the pond only a couple years ago.”_

 

_“It’s been on my to do list,” Angie admitted, shrugging her shoulders. “Growing up, my brothers always told me the same story over and over again, about the Central Park zoo escape - ever heard of it?”_

 

_When Peggy shook her head in response, Angie also propped herself up so that they were eye level. “So you haven’t heard about the rhinoceros that freed itself and gorged its keeper to death?”_

 

_“What?” Peggy wrinkled her nose. “How does a rhinoceros-”_

 

_“It then helped the other animals to escape,” Angie went on. “A panther, a lion, a few hyenas, a polar bear, and a Bengal tiger - all set loose in the city. People were horrified.”_

 

_Peggy tilted her head to the side and looked up towards the ceiling, going over what little details Angie just shared. Finding it difficult to piece together a viable story, she reminded herself that this was, indeed, something brothers probably told their sister in order to have a bit of fun._

 

_“I’m still trying to figure out how a rhinoceros could unlock multiple locks,” Peggy admitted._

 

_“With it’s horn,” Angie deadpanned. After a moment, she grinned. “I believed it for years, y’know? The infamous hoax of 1874. Can you imagine a bengal tiger strolling along Fifth Avenue? I could. My brothers - they were pretty convincing.”_

 

_“Are they still?”_

 

_“Not like they used to be, but little Angie Martinelli grew up, got wiser,” she reassured. “My oldest brother promised he’d take me there to see the sea lions, but… it’s just not something we’ve gotten around to, what with the world nearly ending and all.”_

 

_“Well, there’s time now, isn’t there?”_

 

_Angie’s smile grew faint. Something flashed in her eyes - reminiscence, perhaps? To a time before the entire world changed? Before Peggy could decide, Angie had lied back down, resting her head against the pillow._

 

_Then, Angie suggested, “Maybe we should go, English. Together.”_

 

_“That’d be lovely,” Peggy replied earnestly._

The furniture that once neatly decorated the second living room was pushed up against the walls, an effort made by both Angie and Peggy. They had even removed some of the hanging pieces of artwork.

 

They had haphazardly turned this second living room into a makeshift dance studio, a space for Angie to practice and recite for various auditions, and home office, where Peggy kept the SSR files she had snuck out. The space was divided by the couch they had left in the middle of the room, to be used by whomever saw fit in the moment.

 

Currently, it was Peggy who had flopped herself onto it, hanging herself over the edge of the armrest. If she cranked her head slightly to the left, she could still see the wall she had spent all morning decorating.

 

If you could call it decorating.

 

Most wouldn't.

 

Mr. Jarvis would be appalled.

 

Perhaps they should invite him and his wife over to dinner and to see what she and Angie have managed to do with the place.

 

Peggy replaced the artwork with maps. She also had tacked various pictures and notes onto the wall, from the SSR files that were now skewed all over the desk behind the couch. Now _that_ was something she didn't want to look at - she'd handle that mess later.

 

During her last trip to the SSR office, to pick up her final paycheck, Peggy had grabbed everything she could that regarded, or even mentioned, Leviathan or what she had seen in Russia with the Howling Commandos.

 

She was combing for anything that would give her a clue, or even the smallest inkling, about Dottie.

 

But she was getting nowhere.

 

"Hey, Pegs!" Angie's voice called out from hallway. "I got an audition for this small radio gig-- oh, wow."

 

Grabbing the back of the couch, Peggy pulled herself up with a small grunt. She spotted Angie standing in the doorway. She followed Angie's gaze over her own shoulder and to the wall. Peggy turned back to Angie who had taken a few steps into the second living room.

 

"Looks like you got some work done in here," Angie commented, hesitating to move any further to get a better look - classified information and all that, even if it did involve a shared roommate who turned out to be a trained Russian assassin. "How's it going?"

 

"I'm getting nowhere," Peggy replied, honestly. "I really don't want to be admit it, but, frankly, it's rather obvious - I don't have the resources here to further my investigation."

 

"What 'bout Mr. Fancy?" Angie suggested.

 

Peggy shook her head, "I don't want to drag Mr. Jarvis back into all this."

 

"And Mr. Stark?"

 

"After all the ruckus he's caused, I think Howard should continue to lay low for the time being," Peggy pointed out.

 

Angie took a seat on the opposite end of the couch, of which Peggy had thrown herself over the back so she could continue to stare at the different postings on the wall. She hoped that the different perspectives would cause her to spot a piece of information that she had overlooked.

 

Still nothing.

 

"You said you needed resources, right?" Angie spoke up, stealing Peggy's attention away. "And, uh, from what you told me a couple weeks ago, don't you still have an empty desk waiting for you at the phone company?"

 

"You mean go back to the SSR?" Peggy clarified.

 

Angie nodded.

 

Now frowning, Peggy turned her attention back to the wall, nearly willing for something to stand out now.

 

"Cuz if you continue like this, English, I think you're gonna drive yourself nuts," Angie said, concerned.

 

Angie had a point.

 

And, maybe, she was even right.

 

**To Be Continued.**


	3. Benevolentia and Invidia

And, maybe, Angie was even right. Continuing to work from this makeshift office, sans the resources to which she had grown accustomed, she would, as Angie had most eloquently said, ‘drive herself nuts.’

 

Peggy pushed herself up from the couch, rising and giving silent permission for Angie to suddenly sprawl herself over where she had been sitting only a moment ago. Arms folded over her chest, Peggy rounded the couch and made her way to the desk they had pushed behind it only a few days prior.

 

Gazing down, her eyes lingered on the documents and manila folders that were spread on the desktop, with notes Peggy had scribbled in the margins, Peggy frowned as she contemplated quietly to herself. Her only distraction was a gentle, repetitive _thud_ as Angie's swinging leg bumped into the edge of the couch as it swung back and forth.

 

"What if I put you in danger?" Peggy murmured to herself, in barely a whisper.

 

The thudding came to a sudden stop. There was a ruffling of clothes against the fabric of the cushions. When Peggy looked up, she spotted a peeping Angie with a quizzical expression, one that informed that perhaps she should repeat herself.

 

As much as Peggy did not want to.

 

"I'll put you in danger," Peggy stated, speaking up. "Or, rather, I'll be putting you in even more danger-"

 

"By going back to work in order to track down Iowa?" Angie interjected. "I'm sorry, English, but I'm not really following you here."

 

Peggy sat down at the desk, on the edge of the chair she had stolen from the formal dining room - they didn't need twelve in there anyway. Still scanning the documents, Peggy shook her head, no longer paying attention to any of the text in front of her.

 

Her mind wandered, taking Peggy back to the small apartment she had when she first moved back to the city after the end of the war. More specifically, to that night where she brought home enemy agents, bringing Colleen O'Brien's untimely demise.

 

Peggy had not been able to protect Colleen. What if--

 

"I can fend for myself, English," Angie spoke up when Peggy remained silent, appearing to be engrossed by the files. "I grew up with two older brothers and plenty more cousins - believe it or not, I can hold my own."

 

Looking up, Peggy forced a grin, "I don't doubt it."

 

"I kinda think you do," Angie remarked. "Otherwise we wouldn't being having this conversation."

 

With a heavy sigh, Peggy leaned forward, resting her crossed arms on top of the desk as the forced grin disappeared altogether. She found herself, for the moment, unable to meet Angie's eye. "My former… roommate was murdered because of me. Not to mention, I attracted a trained Russian assassin to the Griffith. If she finds out they both of us live here-"

 

"You regretting asking me to move here?" Angie asked, point blank.

 

"Not at all," Peggy quickly responded, looking up. "I do enjoy your company very much."

 

"Feels like there should be a dangling 'but' at the end of that sentence," Angie pointed out. "So, but what, English?"

 

Peggy did not dare break eye contact, even though she desperately wanted to look away, just for a second, but perhaps doing so would give Angie reasonable doubt. She _did_ enjoy Angie's company, there was no denying that, and it was her association with Peggy that got her kicked out of the Griffith as well.

 

She could not have left Angie without a place to go and Angie Martinelli did not seem like the type to go back to her parents' house, tail between her legs, especially after telling her father to stuff secretary school.

 

For a moment, Peggy considered lying, but lies had the tendency of making things messier, she reminded herself.

 

Not that she needed reminding. Lying was practically part of her job description.

 

But also, the little voice in the back of her mind spoke up, who sounded an awful lot like Mr. Jarvis, she needed someone to lean on, someone to open up to, especially in this particular line of work. Peggy needed support.

 

And Angie could be that support.

 

If Peggy would actually allow it, once and for all.

 

Sooner or later, Angie would be fed up with this game. Angie would grow tired of Peggy constantly changing her mind in regard to, well, lying, sharing, and being open.

 

It would be a shame to lose Angie, in any sense of the word.

 

"When my… When Colleen… I was ridden with guilt - I still am. The people I care for, they all have a tendency of being taken from me. No, that's putting it too nicely. I have the habit of getting them killed," Peggy confessed. "What I do, Angie, is dangerous and if something were to happen to you because of me, I don't know how I'd be able to live with myself."

 

"Is that what this is about?" From the sounds of things, Angie pulled herself up from the couch and made her way over to Peggy's side, where she knelt down to Peggy's eye level. "I ain't going anywhere, English."

 

"How can you be so certain for your safety?" Peggy asked. "Dottie knows that we're close-"

 

"And I know that there's no one better at her job than Peggy Carter," Angie interrupted. She placed her hand on top of Peggy's and gave it a gentle squeeze - a small gesture that gave her enough strength to witness Angie's sly, little smirk. "I mean, c'mon, give yourself some credit - you gave those fellow agents of yours the run around, didn't you? Do you think they've even noticed these files of theirs have gone missing yet?" she added, nudging her head over her shoulder towards the desk.

 

Peggy allowed herself a short laugh, followed by a slight roll of the eyes, "Probably not."

 

Letting go of Peggy's hand, Angie stood up and leaned back, against the desk. She folded her arms across her chest as she nodded slightly, "So, that settles it then."

 

"Now I'm afraid I don't follow - settles what?"

 

"You have to go back to work."

 

"I _have_ to?" Peggy repeated.

 

"Yup," Angie replied. "I think we both know the sooner you get back to the, ah, _phone company_ , the sooner you'll find who you're looking for. We're sitting ducks, otherwise, aren't we? You gotta get Iowa before she gets us and you'll do it a hell of a lot faster there than just sitting around here-"

 

"I wasn't _sitting_ around," Peggy protested. "I was… hanging off the couch."

 

Angie bit back a smirk and gave her a half shrug, "Yeah, well, whatever the case, English, you gotta get to it."

 

"And you'll be alright if I do?"

 

"I can protect myself," Angie reassured. "Grew up with two older brothers, remember? They showed me how to hold my own and, you know, if an injury has to be done, it should be so severe that vengeance ain't even an option."

 

Furrowing her eyebrows in confusion, Peggy leaned back in her chair, cranking her neck up slightly to get a better view of Angie.

 

"Or whatever the line from _the Prince_ is," Angie quickly added as an afterthought.

 

"You've finished _the Comedy_?"

 

"Nah, I gave that up thirteen cantos into _Inferno_ ," Angie admitted, a quick shadow passing over her face for a short instant, but she then waved the notion away with her hand. "Maybe I'll pick it up another time."

 

Peggy took noticed. "Is Machiavelli proving to be a more interesting read?" she asked.

 

"Oh, that was just something I'd hear around the neighborhood growing up."

 

Doing her best not to narrowing her eyes in suspicion, Peggy tilted her head to the side, lips pursed slightly. "You know," she began slowly. "It was also Machiavelli who claimed that everyone sees what you appear to be, but few experience what you really are."

 

Angie leaned forward a bit before teasing, "Am I one of those few who get to experience that, English?"

 

Peggy failed to hold back a grin. "Only if I get to experience the same in return," she replied.

 

"Oh, is that how it is?"

 

"I'm afraid so."

 

"Well, then, I guess I should start with this," Angie began, standing up straight. The corners of her lips tugging into a sly smile as the teasing continued. "The automat really is an automat."

 

"Is that how _that_ is?"

 

"Besides, you gotta go back regardless, Iowa or not," Angie said, dragging herself back over to the couch where she plopped down once more. "Because if you don't, are you allowed to have those files in your possession? Would it be a form of treason?"

 

"Don't you think you're being a tad bit dramatic?" she asked.

 

"Maybe, but there'd be some sort of repercussion, wouldn't there, English?"

 

The following morning, Peggy returned to the SSR, 9 o'clock sharp. The files returned a few days later.

 

**xxxx**

 

_The light emitting from the desk lamp was the only source of illumination in the late evening hours that Peggy was spending at her desk in her office, quickly separating case files into piles: ones that were completed and no longer needed to be dealt with and the others to be taken care of upon returning from the time sensitive mission in Italy._

 

_Wheels would be up in an hour and she needed to be on board with the rowdy Howling Commandos._

 

_The shuffling of feet echoing from the hallway which should have been silent caused her to look up, just in time to see the noisy perpetrator._

 

_He stood there in the doorway rather sheepishly, pulling off his red, white, and blue uniform quite well - this one was much of an improvement from the one he had been forced to wear on stage. Oh, she could just imagine Hodge seething with anger and greed in the presence of Captain America._

 

_This uniform was a far cry from its parodying counterpart that graced stages all over the States. This was the uniform that stood for what Steve Rogers believed in, for what Dr. Abraham Erskine worked so hard._

 

_At least, it did on camera, in the midst of 'battle,' as Peggy was used to seeing in the newsreels._

 

_This was the first time seeing him in full uniform, not just in passing, as he stood awkwardly, unable to decide whether or not he should enter the office. Beneath it all, he was still the endearing, small man she first met back in New York. Peggy had caught a glance of this Steve, too, in the newsreel. To anyone else, there was a good chance it went unnoticed, not counting Colonel Phillips' weary glance._

 

_She had spotted this Steve on film as he had quickly tucked his compass - and by extension, her own photography - away from the camera's view._

 

_"I, uh, I thought someone forgot their desk lamp on," Steve stammered, gesturing towards the light with his first hand. The other was occupied with the shield. Peggy knew of his tendency to pace before heading out on a mission, wielding his trusted weapon of choice. If she had to guess, she figured that was what he was doing now - pacing, preparing, and pepping._

 

_"No, just me," Peggy replied, offering a small smile. "You haven't been back here in a while - I take it you're doing well?"_

 

_"Yeah!" he answered quickly. "Yeah..."_

 

_"And your shoulder?"_

 

_Glancing down at his shoulder, Steve nodded before looking up, "Good as new. As if nothing ever happened."_

 

_"If we could all be so lucky."_

 

_"...Yeah," Steve murmured, now casting his gaze to the floor. "That soldier, the one from that day - he was discharged, wasn't he? Sent home?"_

 

_Peggy pursed her lips before replying, "I'm afraid I can't discuss-"_

 

_"I know, but.. well, you probably can't tell me anyway - did he make it home safe?" Steve asked, looking up._

 

_He was right, she couldn't tell him. Peggy sighed slightly, glancing down at her desk for a moment. She knew her orders well enough. She knew the rules and regulations, but that didn't stop her from giving him a half nod._

 

_Steve mirrored it in return. "Good. A lot of 'em, they don't make it home."_

 

_"That's one of war's harshest realities."_

 

_Peggy watched as he shifted back and forth on his feet, teetered in the doorframe as he contemplated taking a step into the office or just lingering in the hallway. This was their first conversation, as they were both aware, since Steve had picked out his new shield._

 

_Or as they more appropriately remembered: since Peggy had shot at him._

 

_"It's different than what I've imagined," Steve spoke up after a moment. He took a small step forward. "They don't show you those harsh realities back home at the pictures."_

 

_Peggy sat up straighter in her seat and leaned forward over her desk._

 

_"Back home, you hear about the number of deaths," Steve went on. "But that's it - it's just a number. Every now and again, maybe it hits a bit closer. Maybe you lose a neighbor, a friend, but… out here. You can't see numbers. You see the soldiers they represent. You see the lives. You see first hand what can potentially be lost."_

 

_She had shot at him four times, convinced that he had turned out to be another soldier completely full of himself._

 

_"And I've seen - we've seen," he corrected himself. "We've seen things that people back home won't ever believe - things that've changed soldiers. They're soldiers out there who are no longer the same people they were when they enlisted."_

 

_"You aren't the same man, physically," Peggy teased lightly._

 

_Even Steve had to admit that he walked straight into that one._

 

_"But you are right," Peggy went on, pushing back her seat and rising. "War can change our perspective drastically. Do you think you've changed, Steve?"_

 

_"Besides the obvious?"_

 

_The corners of Peggy's lips tugged into a smirk as she walked around her desk. "Yes, besides the obvious," she said, now leaning against the metal edge. "Are you still that, how did you phrase it? Kid from Brooklyn?"_

 

_She caught him taking a glance down at the shield, a symbol of what he has become._

 

_"Deep down, fundamentally, I hope so," he said earnestly, but it was soon followed by a shrug of the shoulders. "But, you know, I've seen so many men change in the last couple months. They've grown bitter while others haven't. Others haven't stayed the same. They've stayed who they are, for the most part. I hope I'm the latter when all of this is over."_

 

_"Well, there's no doubt in my mind."_

 

_It earned her another small, sheepish smile and a nod._

 

_"Well, uh, there's this mission," he began._

 

_"Yes, to Italy. I'm very aware," Peggy said. "We're leaving in under an hour and I still have much to do - you, however, look ready to depart."_

 

_"You're coming with?"_

 

_"Does that surprise you?"_

 

_"No!" Steve said quickly. "It's great, actually. It's been a while."_

 

_"You know, you don't have to wait for lady luck to assign me to the same mission in order to catch up," Peggy teased. "Most would have asked for dinner at this point."_

 

_"May I, then?" Steve found himself asking. "Ask you to dinner, that is?"_

 

_Grinning ever so faintly, Peggy nodded._

 

**xxxx**

 

Just as Daniel had said, they kept her desk free; it remained just as Peggy had left it weeks ago, untouched - a silent testament to her new found reputation among the other SSR agents perhaps?

 

For about a week, Peggy foolishly allowed herself to believe.

 

It was easy to believe such a thing while her colleagues treated her as a fellow agent -- and not just Daniel, but the other men in the office as well. Hell, even Jack, the stand in chief, had muttered a 'welcome back, Carter' her first day back - did so as he made a beeline from the entrance to his temporary private office, without bothering to look up.

 

Good ol' Jack.

 

"The higher ups in Washington won't give him the position," Daniel had told her after the door to Chief Dooley's door closed. "Lacks the experience, or so goes the rumor, anyway. It serves him right, though, especially after stealing your thunder from the Stark case. Rat bastard."

 

Over the course of that first week, Daniel had also noted that the missing Leviathan files that he misplaced reappeared conveniently out of the blue. He had said so with a sly smirk, keeping any assumptions to himself.

 

Playing ever so daft, Peggy had agreed that the occurrence had, indeed, been rather convenient. Both parties had decided to ignore the new scribbled notes that had not been present before the files prior disappearance.

 

Both parties had already known the unspoken truth, so why bother mentioning it?

 

Instead, they had spent the next following days discussing the new notes, observing different angles and trails, but even with Daniel serving as an extra set of eyes, every trial they had chased had been cold.

 

As though their assailant had disappeared into thin air.

 

Before they could have made any headway with this case, Peggy's first work week had come to an end. Her second week back had coincided with Jack resuming his role as agent; the SSR office in New York City had welcomed Agent John Flynn as its new chief.

 

On Chief Flynn's second day as chief, he had told Peggy to pick up the lunch orders. Before Peggy had been able to react, or rather, to inform her new boss that, no, she was not a secretary, but she could easily see how his small mind could be confused, Flynn had disappeared back into the office he had been redecorating. Aghast, she had turned to Daniel who had buried his own face into an opened manilla folder, eyebrows furrowed together in feint concentration.

 

In the past, Peggy had warned Daniel of speaking in her defense, especially concerning their fellow colleagues. Peggy was capable of standing her ground and she had some pretty thick skin albeit a very short temper, but that was neither here nor there. It had been grand to see that Daniel had been capable of listening.

 

Her departure for this all too familiar errand had been met with awkward silence, the shuffling of files, and pens furiously scratching away against paper - anything to convey a sense of sudden busyness. Weeks ago, these men had cheered her, had shook her hand in praise.

 

All of that - all her work and the danger she had put herself in - had all been forgotten.

 

No, not forgotten.

 

 

Why?

 

"Nothing personal," Daniel had told her in a hushed voice upon her return. "It's just, uh, the fellas, they want to make a good first impression with the chief. Don't want to get off on the wrong foot. It ain't like I got one to spare, y'know?"

 

Any witty remark Peggy had, had vanished upon returning to her own desk, which had been cleared of any files.

 

Looking back over to Daniel, Peggy had found him deeply interested in his own untouched documents. He probably would had buried his face into his usual order of Chinese take out had he actually ordered - he had not out of principle, although he had claimed he just hadn't been hungry.

 

The loud growl of his stomach had quickly betrayed him.

 

What happened after Daniel had confessed the chief had taken the files was still a blur, which had been caused by the sudden wave of rage. Needless to say, Peggy had not been too concerned about her own first impression, not when the chief had already made up his mind about the only woman on this side of the office.

 

Peggy decided to take a personal day for the rest of her shift. It was probably best for everyone - and the state of the office supplies for that matter.

 

When home, Peggy tossed her keys, rather haphazardly, onto the hallway table. They missed their designated bowl, nor did she really care. Was it really a wonder she had managed to misplace her Griffith key? Normally, Peggy paid close attention to detail, but things had a tendency to fall to the wayside a bit whenever she grew upset, or had a bit of a temper.

 

At this very moment, there was a mixture of both, probably.

 

She did note the set of keys that were already there, in the bowl where they should be.

 

Angie was home.

 

Peggy could do with a bit of venting.

 

The common, shared areas were empty - a bit concerning, but Peggy didn't allow herself to worry just yet. She had to remind herself that Angie was more than capable of taking care of herself, just as she had said in one of their prior conversations. Peggy could go back to work and Angie would continue to be fine without her own personal body guard.

 

Besides, she had one more place to look.

 

Coming up to the closed bedroom door, Peggy lingered for a moment, wondering if what she was doing was silly.

 

It was just another terrible work day. It was the same story being spun.

 

'It's eight o'clock , Grandma,' she could still hear Angie say. 'Come on tell me about your crappy day.'

 

Angie was as good a listener as she was a talker. Peggy just needed to fall into the habit of going to her to talk, to continue to be open and not closed off, and this was a step in that direction.

 

Not to mention, Angie would probably have some good remarks and comebacks.

 

Peggy knocked on the door, from behind she overheard the shuffling of sheets and a barely audible clanking of metal. There was a short instance of panic - what if she had woken her?

 

It was momentarily lived and quickly forgotten as soon as Peggy was met with a perplexed Angie.

 

"You're home early, English," Angie commented.

 

"How were you certain it was me?" Peggy asked.

 

Angie scrunched her nose, "Don't think a trained assassin would knock before carrying out her job."

 

"Please don't joke about that-"

 

"I have a point, y'know," she interrupted. "Any developments on our favorite former roommate?"

 

The anger that had only subsided slightly returned at once in a quick flash. Peggy tried to hide it, but Angie's quizzical look told her she hadn't done the best job.

 

"No," Peggy replied, no longer bothering to uphold appearances. Angie knew when she was upset ('You get more rigid,' Angie had pointed out in the past after one of Howard's more recent drunken escapades. 'Your eyebrow also twitches and this look of sheer determination to murder whoever kinda comes over you, English'). "And thanks to this new chief, who knows if there will be."

 

"Does that mean what I think it means?" Angie asked, taking a step to the side in order to swing open the door and allowing Peggy to step inside.

 

"Unfortunately so," Peggy grumbled, following Angie to the unmade bed, upon which they both sat.

 

"He's closing the case?"

 

"Reassigning it, actually," Peggy corrected. "He went on about new perspective from an _actual_ agent," she said with a sneer.

 

"The nerve of this guy!" Angie commented. "So what did you do-? Peg, you didn't get fired again, did you?"

 

Peggy flopped back onto the bed, arms outstretched. "No," she admitted. "I imagine I'm still employed, but I did recommend an agent."

 

Angie leaned back, keeping himself propped up with her hands. "Oh? Who?"

 

"I told him to give it to the agent who conducted an entire investigation under the SSR's nose," Peggy replied. "The same agent who rounded up the Howling Commandos, went into Russia, and discovered that they were training these young girls into becoming assassins."

 

"Bet he really liked the reveal," Angie smirked.

 

"I left before I could witness," Peggy mumbled, rolling up eyes at the ceiling as she shook her head. "I've said it time and time again, I do know my value. I know I'm an asset to the agency. I've proved it, but now.. suddenly, with this new chief in charge - my male colleagues don't have to prove themselves."

 

"You shouldn't have to either, English."

 

"I _shouldn't_ ," Peggy agreed. "I should be able to continue on with my work, like Agents Thompson and Sousa. It's the least I deserve. They don't have to worry about their cases being taken from under them while filling lunch orders-"

 

" _You had to fill their lunch orders_?" Angie gasped.

 

"As though nothing has changed," Peggy said.

 

"It sounds as though you need to put this guy in his place," Angie pointed out. "Or replace his coffee with decaf."

 

Eyebrows furrowing, Peggy lifted her head a tad to stare at Angie, "Have you…?"

 

Angie bit back a laugh, "Do you even have to ask? Oldest trick in the book."

 

Of course Angie had.

 

Peggy rested her head back down. "I can't help but feel rather envious," she admitted. "That they can go about their job without any disturbances. They can continue on with their cases as though nothing has happened, because nothing _has_. Whereas I now have to fight to get my own files back. Let me tell you, there are plenty of other cases he could have taken away, from agents who aren't even half as good."

 

"One day, English, you'll be running that place, mark my words, and you won't have to deal with this ever again," Angie promised.

 

Before Peggy could retort, Angie had tossed the comforter - the one that had been resting in a pile at the head of the bed - over the both of them. Angie then embraced her tightly. Although a bit perplexed, Peggy could not help but smile as she questioned the action.

 

"Ain't it comfy?" Angie responded. "Wrapped up in this expensive comforter? Hard to be upset when you're lying in a cloud, isn't it?"

 

Well, yes, it was comfortable, but that was not exactly the reason why it was now incredibly difficult to remain upset. Peggy could think of a better one: Angie's delightful silliness -- and to think that Peggy had hesitated to knock on the door.

 

"I adore you, I hope you know that," Peggy confessed, allowing herself a small chuckle.

 

"Aw, shucks, English, you definitely know how to make a girl blush," Angie grinned, rolling onto her back. "For the record, you ain't so bad yourself."

 

"Oh, is that so?"

 

Angie nodded, "There is one good thing about all this - we get the rest of the day to ourselves."

 

"You find the silver lining in everything, don't you?" Peggy teased. "So I take it your day was much better than mine?"

 

She was met with silence. Peggy turned her head to take a glance. Angie was staring up at the ceiling with a smile.

 

"Yeah, I guess you can say that," Angie answered. "I landed a job."

 

Peggy bolted up, comforter and all. "Angie, that's fantastic," she gushed.

 

"It's a small radio gig, nothing fancy," Angie said with a shrug and then sat up. "But, hey, you gotta start somewhere, right?"

 

"Exactly - ! And is this how you celebrated?" Peggy asked, waving her hand over the bed. "Just stayed here all morning?"

 

Angie made a gesture towards the phone on the nightstand ," _That's_ how I've been celebrating. Keeps ringing off the hook - Mamma keeps callin' back with _auguri_ 's from aunts, uncles, and cousins I haven't seen - or heard of - in years."

 

"That's incredibly sweet, actually. They must be so proud."

 

"They finally have an actress in the family!" Angie grinned. "Mamma wants to celebrate on Sunday with dinner - you're invited, by the way - but I think we should go do something for ourselves, you know? We should go out right out. I think it'd make us both feel better, don't you think?"

 

"And where would you like to go?" Peggy asked in return. "I think it's only fitting that you choose, but, I will admit, I think it's a tad bit early to go dancing."

 

Angie nodded in agreement. "You know what? The zoo. We should go to the Central Park Zoo."

 

"Are you sure? But your brother--"

 

"He wouldn't mind," Angie reassured, bouncing off the bed. "Come on, English! Let's go see some sea lions - after Mamma's next phone call, of course. Otherwise she'll worry something happened."

 

"Of course," Peggy replied, scooting herself over to the edge of the bed, but she suddenly paused. Her shoulders fell slightly as something dawned on her, something Angie had mentioned just moments ago. She looked up at Angie who was already examining her closet for the perfect outfit.

 

"I think I may have misheard you," Peggy began. "But was I just invited to a Martinelli family dinner…?"

 

**To be continued**


	4. Patientia and Ira

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events describe in the flashback are based on the Italian film L’uomo che verrà (The Man Who Will Come), which, in turn, is based on the true events of the Marzabotto massacre of 1944.

If ever in the future she was faced with the decision to be in the office for the rest of the afternoon or watch Angie Martinelli react to the sea lions at the Central Park Zoo, Peggy Carter was certain which decision was the only correct option. Naturally, it was the one which involved worrying that her roommate would lean too far over the railing keeping the general public out of the sea lion enclosure.

 

"Crikey!" Peggy muttered under her breath as Angie leaned forward even more. Peggy hovered her hand over Angie's back, just in case she needed to prevent her from joining the sea lions.

 

As Angie finally stood up straight, which did much for Peggy's sanity, her hand grazed her shoulder. Angie turned, with a smile, to look at her.

 

"Did you say something, English?" she asked.

 

"Nothing at all," Peggy replied, matching her infectious smile. "Did you really believe a rhino freed himself and other animals from this place?"

 

"I was _five_!" Angie retorted. "I believed anything my brothers told me - and can you imagine? A rhino and his tiger friend wandering around the city."

 

"Oh the ruckus they would have gotten themselves into."

 

Angie's attention then returned to the lounging sea lions. "Y'know, the architect, he actually studied sea lions' habits before he designed the pool," she pointed out. "Put that knowledge to go use into his design, so the sea lions can still kind of feel at home, even when they're not."

 

"You know a lot about this place," Peggy commented.

 

"All thanks to my oldest brother," Angie replied, taking a step back. She turned around and lead the both of them to an empty bench, where they both sat down. "Gotta tell you the truth: I aint sure if sea lions are my favorite animal because they just are, or if he influenced 'em to be. Either way, they're cute, aren't they? What's your favorite animal, English?"

 

"Oh, my favorite animal?" Peggy repeated, eyebrows raising. "You know, I haven't thought about that… in years," she admitted. "I'm fairly certain it was a fox when I was a child."

 

"A fox, huh?" Angie repeated, smirking. "Something about them being cunning and sly, I'm guessing?"

 

"You see, when I was five, _I_ thought they were rather adorable," Peggy insisted, knowing full well of Angie's attention. "My sly and cunning abilities didn't emerge until later in life."

 

"Is that what they post on the job description for the phone company?"

 

Angie's question cut Peggy's admiration for the slumbering sea lion in the middle of the manmade island short. Turning, Peggy found Angie, sitting on the edge of the bench, had scooted closer and had leaned forward. Her bright eyes narrowed, but the glint of playfulness erased any sense of accusation Peggy may have felt.

 

No, instead, Peggy felt something else - something she couldn't quite describe; something, she would admit, she hadn't felt in some time.

 

Disguising her hitched breath as an itch in her throat that she quickly cleared, Peggy tried to avert her gaze elsewhere - from Angie, to the sea lions, to the other patrons of the zoo.

 

It proved to be more difficult than she had imagined.

 

Her eyes rested once more upon Angie, who did nothing to hide her bemused smirk.

 

"Lighten up a bit, English, I was just pulling your leg," Angie teased before becoming serious. The smirk disappeared. "And I shouldn't've. Not with the morning you had. I'm sorry-"

 

"No! No, Angie, it's all right," Peggy reassured, shifting herself on the bench so that she better faced her. Sea lions be damned. "And I should - lighten up, I mean. We came out here to celebrate, yes? Are you enjoying yourself?"

 

Peggy caught the return of a small smile as Angie turned her head slightly to look back at the sea lion pool. The playfulness that she grew to love dimmed in her eyes. There was a secret, hiding just below the surface, one that Peggy had detected time and time again over the last few weeks - a side of Angie with whom she wasn't familiar, even still.

 

They all had their secrets; they were all entitled to them, as well. The phone operator and the diner waitress.

 

Regardless, Angie nodded. "Yeah, English, I am," she said softly. "But I gotta admit - he kinda oversold this, the jerk."

 

"The jerk…? Your brother?" Peggy clarified. "We could've invited him along, you know. You could have phoned-"

 

"That'd be some phone bill, Peg," Angie quipped, leaning back against the bench. Her gaze dropped to her lap where her hands rested, intertwined together as she momentarily debated whether or not she wanted to add, "My brother, Frankie - the one who promised to bring me here. He died a couple years back."

 

It didn't register at first.

 

_He died a couple years back._

 

But when it had, Peggy reached out to place her hand on top of Angie's, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I'm so sorry," she breathed. Peggy did not dare ask: a couple years ago, she could assume the all too familiar circumstances. "I had no idea."

 

With a small shrug of the shoulders and a hand wave, Angie tried to brush it off, to show that it really didn't bother her as much as Peggy expected - or, at least, Angie was very good at hiding those sacred emotions. "And why would you? Never came up before," she replied, gazing back up at the sea lion pool.

 

"You speak fondly of him," Peggy commented, watching for any sign of emotions, but Angie stayed stoic.

 

Until, that was, the corners of her lips tugged into a faint smile; her eyes glistening. Those actor types, she called Ms. Fry explaining, wear their emotions on their sleeves. Angie was no different, although a gallant effort had been made.

 

"He's the best big brother anyone could ask for - don't mention that to Leo," Angie quickly added as a second thought. "Or do. Leo would pick on me when I had nightmares. Frankie never did."

 

Peggy nodded along, sympathetically, before asking, "He was the one who protected you from those monsters, wasn't he? The nightmares?"

 

The moment of silence was followed by a heavy sigh and then a nod. “Leo’s always been a jerk about it, you see,” Angie explained. “Always told me to just grow up, get over it – not that they’re a common thing, y’know, but Frankie… Leo’s not as sensitive – doesn’t have those intense night terrors.”

 

“So he’d comfort you,” Peggy said softly.

 

“So much more than that, English. He’d reassure me,” Angie corrected, a small grin appearing for a second. “He’d double check under my bed and my closet. And when even that wasn’t enough on some nights, he’d lie on the foot of my bed and wait there until I fell asleep. Heck, sometimes Mamma would find the both of us asleep there in my room in the morning – his neck would hurt him for days after that.”

 

“By the sound of things, he was a great brother.”

 

“More than great,” Angie agreed with a slow nod. “Some of those nightmares were hell, let me tell you.”

 

_Per me si va ne la città dolente._

Peggy stared for a moment and quickly adverted her gaze when Angie turned towards her, not wanting to be caught. “These nightmares, they were just something that occurred during your childhood, correct?”

 

_Per me si va ne l’etterno dolore._

 

Angie tilted her head to the side, as thought contemplating how she would respond. A simple yes, or a simple no. The truth, or a lie. Peggy didn’t push for an answer – perhaps she had over stepped her boundaries by simply asking such a question.

 

_Per me si va tra la perduta gente._

 

“You know,” Angie began, turning her head towards Peggy. “I wish they were, but truth is, I think I have more nightmares now then I do pleasant dreams. Heck, I’d even settle for a mundane one.”

 

_Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate._

Peggy felt her heart drop at the revelation and once more found herself reaching out to grab the other woman’s hand. “Angie, I had no idea.”

 

“How could you?” Angie replied, trying to shrug it off as thought it were nothing, probably because for the last couple of years, that’s how she had to pretend it to be. She had to pretend that she wasn’t suffering; she had to pretend that she was alright, because who else was there to keep her safe if not for herself? “Not really something I talk about. Did you think you’re the only one with secrets, English?”

 

“No, um, of course not-“

 

“Good, cuz you’re not the best-“

 

“I beg your pardon, I think I’m rather-“

 

“ _You_ think,” Angie stressed with a short laugh. “But you ain’t. I knew there was something about you the first day you walked into the diner.”

 

“Did you now?”

 

Angie nodded with a forced smile, “I knew there was something special about you. Turned out I was right.”

 

“And what’s so special about little old me? The pseudo phone operation, of all people,” Peggy teased herself in an attempt to lighten the mood.

 

When Angie had suggested they visit the Central Park zoo, Peggy had prepared herself for a splendid afternoon to distract her from the current affairs residing in the SSR office. Without a doubt, she was definitely distracted – office politics were far from her mind, but what she hadn’t expected was this: Angie, this entire time, without Peggy knowing, had been suffering, grieving, just as she had.

 

There was no doubt about it: Angie was a great actress, fooling even those closest to her. Every single one.

 

“You believe in me,” Angie replied, without skipping a beat. “In a way no one else has. Not since Frankie anyway.”

 

Peggy felt her heart breaking, even more so when Angie turned to her. For a moment, that mischievous, playful glint returned in those blue eyes. Peggy could only assume it was learnt from her dear brother way back when. The two seemed to have been thick as thieves – probably caused a lot of trouble, Peggy assumed, base on Angie’s own personality.

 

“Well, of course, darling. There’s something special about you too,” Peggy stated. “You’d have to be a fool to believe otherwise – or blind, for that matter.”

 

There was a laugh – it may have been small, but at least it had been real, genuine, as though Angie might have possibly believed her.

 

“And thank you,” Peggy added.

 

“Thank you for what, English?”

 

“For sharing this place – this moment, these truths – with me,” Peggy explained. “They’re important to you, special. And imagine it: one day, I’ll get to tell people that way back when, the great Angie Martinelli took me to the Central Park zoo.”

 

“I couldn’t imagine sharing it with anyone else, to be honest,” Angie confessed. “And hopefully that won’t be the only story you’ll tell people.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“You have to survive a Sunday dinner with the Martinelli family,” Angie pointed out, her faint smirk returning. “Gotta put you through a crash course, though, before then – and I already have a bottle of schnapps for after dinner. We’re gonna need it.”

 

**xxxx**

 

_"You sure we're in the right place?" Dum Dum asked._

_"Think it's time for Manelli to admit his Italian isn't up to par anymore," Morita commented._

_"_ Vaffanculo _, my Italian is fine," Manelli nearly snarled. "More than fine - it's_ perfect _."_

_"Perhaps mine is better," Dernier spoke up. "Since I don't just wander around quoting_ La Divina Commedia come un cretino _."_

_"Having a love for the father of a beautiful language does not make me an imbecile!" Manelli snapped._

_"No," Dernier agreed. "But leading us to the wrong village does."_

_"French and Italian are not the same language," Falsworth pointed out. "But maybe we'd be in the right place if you had gotten the directions. Dante_ did _wander around a forest, lost."_

_"To be fair, we're not in a forest and not one of us would have asked," Jones added. "Would've been less fun."_

_Bickering among the commandos was expected, Peggy reminded herself as they slowly made their way up what was supposedly the main road of the isolate town. Growing up, Peggy had been to many different European cities, of all sizes. They all had had more activity than this, even in wartime._

_Even if people were hiding, there always was a sign of movement – a curious child trying to peek out a window or a door against their parents’ will was usually the case._

_This… this, thought, was a ghost town, Peggy told herself, her grasp around her weapon never faltering. There was no one, not even a stray animal._

_Where were the people?_

_"Something tells me this ain't supposed to be fun," Bucky spoke up. "Where is everybody? Cap, where are we?"_

_“_ Per me si va ne la città dolente _,” Manelli began to recite in a soft whisper._

_“Enough with Dante,” Dernier snapped._

_“_ Per me si va ne l’etterno dolore, tra la perduta gente _,” Manelli hissed louder._

_“Enough the both of you,” Peggy hissed in return. “Worse than children, the lot of you.”_

_“Sorry, Peggy,” Dum Dum apologized on their behalf. “You need a nickname, you know, for the field-“_

_“Agent Carter is just fine,” Peggy interrupted._

_“Don’t worry, I’ll think of something,” Dum Dum reassured._

_“Bucky’s right,” Steve spoke up from the front of the group. Lowering his shield, he turned to face the rest of them, eyes resting on Peggy. “Something’s funny about this place – these are the coordinates, right?”_

_Taking another gander around, Peggy nodded. Their coordinates were correct. This was the village that was supposed to be targeted. As soon as the thought entered her mind, a pit formed in the middle of her stomach. Yes, this was the village, that much of their information was correct, but what if…_

_What if their given time had been wrong._

_“Oh God,” Peggy whispered breathlessly._

_Although barely audible, she earned each and everyone’s attention. As the same revelation occurred, they slowly lowered their weapons, guns all pointed at the ground. No one dared spoke a word. No one dared to make the assumption aloud, to accept the fact that, perhaps, for the first time, the Howling Commandos have failed a mission. The silence made eerie, realizing they were now standing in the middle of a mass grave._

_“Our objective’s changed then,” Steve spoke up. “We search for survivors. Leave no one-“_

_From behind there was a ‘whoosh’ of a flying object. Steve whirled around, lifting his shield just in time for a shoe to bounce off. Each commando lifted their weapon again, aiming directly at the assailant: a young boy, no older than twelve, stood, standing his ground against Captain America. His face was dirty with both dry and fresh blood and tears. His eyes, bright red and swollen as his shoulders quickly rose and fell with each labored breathe._

_“_ È colpa tua _!” the boy shrieked, his high-pitched voice slicing through the silence as only agony could. “_ È colpa tua che sono morti _!”_

_Peggy didn’t have a good grasp of Italian – she was much better with French and Russian, but she did recognize a word here and there, one in particular:_ morti _. Dead._

_“Manelli? Help us out here?” Steve asked over his shoulder._

_“They’re dead,” Manelli replied. The usual playfulness and boom of the actor’s voice had disappeared. “_ Chi sono morti, caro _?”_

_“_ Tutti _!”_

_“Everyone,” Steve murmured, not needing a translation. He lowered his shield. There was no threat here, not anymore._

_“What happened exactly?” Bucky asked, glancing over Steve’s shoulder towards the boy. “_ Cos.. Cos è _-“_

_“_ Succeso _,” Manelli finished for him._

_“A massacre,” Peggy responded._

_“_ I tedeschi _!” the boy shouted as his whole body shook._

_Manelli translated as quickly as the boy spoke, “They rounded everyone up – men, women, and children – and marched them up to the enclosed cemetery up the hill. They were all slaughtered, at gunpoint. Machine guns by the sound of it.”_

_“So, nothing to do with the Skull’s weaponry,” Falsworth pointed out._

_“Let’s not worry about that right now,” Steve snapped, quickly glancing over his shoulder towards Falsworth’s general direction. “Manell, ask if there’s anyone else.”_

_“_ Ci sono altri ancora vivi _?”_

_“_ No _!”_

_His voice echoed off the buildings. It was enough to send a chill down Peggy’s spine. An entire town, gone, leaving only this pour child behind._

_“How did he survive?” Peggy asked softly._

_“_ Come mai hai sopravissuto _?” Manelli asked on her behalf. “He, uh, he played dead, covered. He was covered by the corpuses of his mother and sister. When they came around to fire point blank at any of the other survivors, he held his breath. Kid’s covered in blood – probably mistook it for his own injuries.”_

_“_ Mi.. mi dispiace _,” Steve struggled. “I’m sorry. Let us help-“_

_“_ Mi dispiace _,” the boy repeated, mocking. He reached down to remove his remaining shoe. This time, Steve didn’t lift his shield to protect himself. The kid chucked the shoe as hard as he could, hitting Steve square in the chest; he didn’t move._

_“Let us help you,” Steve repeated. “_ Aiuto _… you.”_

_“_ Possiamo aiutarti _,” Manelli offered. “_ Vieni con noi, amico mio _-“_

_“_ Non sono il tuo amico – i miei amici sono tutti morti _!”_

_There was that word again, the one that seemed to echo louder than all the rest:_ morti _. This child had every right to be angry when everything he had ever known had been taken away from her in an instant._

_“_ Vogliamo aiutarti _,” Peggy spoke up. She passed her gun to Morita and took a couple steps forward so she was standing side-by-side with Steve and Manelli now. The boy froze upon seeing her, as though not expecting to see a woman among them. War was clearly a man’s game, afterall. “_ Vieni con noi _,” she repeated, glancing at Manelli who nodded._

_He would later tease her pronunciation, when it was more appropriate, and after a couple rounds at the pub._

_She extended her hand towards the boy who stared at it wearily. “_ Sono amica _,” Peggy tried. Oh, how she wished she paid more attention to Manelli and Dernier’s bickering in the damn language. “_ Tutti. Amico _-“_

_“_ Siamo tutti amici qui _,” Manelli corrected._

_“What he said,” Peggy agreed. “_ Siamo tutti amici _.”_

_His hard glare ranged between Steve, Manelli, and Peggy, but his features began to soften and break as the gravity of his situation sunk in. The child had no one left, not even a town to call home. How could he even continue to survive without their help? At least they would be able to give him shelter – with Colonel Phillip’s accordance or no. Peggy would make sure of it and she was certain Steve would as well. Hell, the whole Howling Commandos would._

_Hesitantly, the boy finally reached out and took Peggy’s hand. Peggy offered him a reassuring smile and then pointed to Manelli. “_ Amico mio – molto bravo _-“_

_“Aw, thanks, Peg-“_

_“Don’t push your luck,” Peggy warned, before turning back to the boy. “_ Italiano. Attore _.”_

_“Any time you need help, Peggy,” Manelli offered, earning himself a glare._

_“Oh, all right then,” Peggy grumbled. “Tell him stories from movie sets to distract him, or something of the nature. Appropriate ones.”_

_“Trust us, Agent Carter, those aren’t the types of stories the boy wants to bear,” Dum Dum informed, rather cheekily._

_Lips thinning, Peggy shook her head. “Honestly, the lot of you.” She turned to Steve, “What are your orders, Captain?”_

_His mind was occupied by other matters, Peggy confirmed; he was still watching Manelli, who bent down to the boy’s level. Manelli was speaking a mile a minute, showing the boy a small notebook that he had pulled out from his vest. He stood, unmoving. He hadn’t heard her one bit._

_“Steve,” Bucky spoke up. “Your orders?”_

_He snapped out of his trance and turned to the rest of the Commandos, void of any emotion._

_“How do we proceed?” Peggy added._

_“Rescue mission,” Steve finally replied, meeting her eye. “We scout the rest of the town – the cemetery first. Get medical attention to those who need it. Find out why this happened – how this happened.”_

_“If we split up, we’d cover more ground,” Morita suggested._

_Steve nodded._

_Dum Dum cleared his throat when Steve said nothing more, “So, uh, Manelli stays with the kid. Morita, Dernier – head back down south. Make sure we didn’t miss anything on our way through. Falsworth, Barnes – go east. Carter-“_

_“I’m going to the cemetery,” Peggy insisted, tone final._

_“Peggy,” Dum Dum began to protest, but he, too, earned himself a warning glare._

_“That’s final,” Peggy stressed._

_“Then I’m going with you,” Steve stated. “We’ll head up to the cemetery, together. Jones, Dum Dum – you’ll go west. Got it?”_

_In agreement, they broke off into their different groups. Steve fell in line with Peggy’s step as they continued north through the deserted town. Each step forward they took, they took in silence, until they were out of earshot from the others, especially Manelli and the child._

_“Why?” he asked._

_A one-word question, one that was rather heavy with the gravity of the situation they found themselves in. The guilt was beginning to weight down on her shoulders, tempting to drag her down into the dirt road they walked upon._

_There was an answer, of course._

_She just didn’t want to acknowledge it._

_“Peggy?” Steve spoke up again. “You could’ve gone with Jones or Dum Dum back there – you don’t have to see this.”_

_“That’s rather kind of you,” Peggy found herself saying, as they marched forward. “But this is my fault.”_

_His steps that once matched her own lingered and then came to a complete stop. She could feel his gaze, heavy on her back, asking for an explanation to such an absurd statement. Unfortunately, it wasn’t absurd, not in the slightest._

_It was all true._

_Turning on her heel, Peggy confessed, “I translated the code incorrectly. It’s the only explanation – I got the time wrong.”_

_“That’s not possible.”_

_“I got the time wrong,” Peggy repeated._

_“You’re the best code breaker in the SSR,” Steve pointed out. “You didn’t mess up.”_

_Each stood their ground, neither one lowering their wall; both convinced to be right. They were equally hard headed, even though none would admit it, and if they kept this up, they would never complete their mission. That wouldn’t do anyone any good._

_Peggy’s shoulders were the first to fall slightly._

_“How’d you explain it then?” she asked._

_He shifted on his feet, glancing around the empty village as if looking for any hints of clues, or maybe something concrete to back up his theory. “They wanted us to see this. They gave us the wrong time on purpose,” Steve stated. “To show us what they’re capable of.”_

_“That’s a bit of a stretch,” Peggy remarked, not wanting to say what was really on her mind at the moment._

_“But only a bit,” Steve commented. “The Skull would-“_

_“We won’t know his involvement in all this until we witness the scene, Captain,” Peggy interrupted. “So I suggest no more unplanned stops.”_

_Well, that most definitely made him hold his tongue, alright. With no further rhetorical remarks, Peggy returned to their original path: due north. They were to come upon the outskirts of town, where they soon found themselves at the foot of a hill, upon which sat the ominous walled in cemetery about which the boy spoke._

_At least they were in the right place._

_She half expected for Steve, in his kindness and want to spare her, to speak up again, to tell her that this was her last chance to back down if she wanted to, but he didn’t say a word. He knew better. Once Agent Carter had her mind set on a mission, there was no going back – no backing down. Peggy was going to see this through, especially if she was the one at fault._

_How could she have gotten the time wrong? How could she have made such a grave mistake?_

_They approached the structure, its limestone brick walls decaying, piece-by-piece, cracking away. The massive wooden doors, warped by time, were slightly ajar. Footsteps, stained a dark red, lead from it._

_If Peggy had to guess, they belonged to the boy who Manelli was attempting to entertain._

_For the first time since Peggy had reprimanded him, Steve was back at her side, instead of tailing along, or lingering behind. They exchanged a glance and a nod. This was it; this was their location._

_Rescue mission, Steve had ordered the group._

_That was their new objective: help as many as they possibly could._

_Peggy adjusted her weapon in her hands just as Steve lifted his knee to kick out his leg. He quickly hid behind his shield, just peering over the top, as the collision with the already jarred door caused it to swing open, nearly rip off the hinges. It hung on by its top latch._

_They had armed themselves all for naught._

_Lowering his shield, Peggy watched as Steve sprung forward. She followed after him, but came to a grinding halt just as she ducked under their damaged entrance._

_Bodies upon bodies._

_Hundreds upon hundreds._

_An entire village._

_Young, old._

_Men, women._

_Children, infants._

_All innocent, all undeserving of such a monstrous fate._

_Peggy’s mouth grew dry, her heart leapt into her throat. She had been certain… certain that she had prepared herself for such a sight, but no. Nothing could prepare oneself for this amount of innocent bloodshed._

_Mangled bodies lay upon each other in piles, lying in pools of blood and other matter. Some were grasped together in a final embrace. Others were pulled away from groups, their outer reached arms and hands had grasped at the dirt as they struggled to get themselves from safety. Bullet wounds on their foreheads made their efforts fruitless._

_There had been no escape; there had been no possibility of escape. They had made sure of it. This was not an act of war. No, this was an act against humanity. This was a pointless act of violence._

_“Peggy!” Steve shouted out, distracting her from her building rage. “Peggy, I need your help!”_

_In the midst of walking the parameter of the causalities, Steve had stopped about a fourth of the way. He was now kneeling on the ground as the young woman, lying on her stomach, reached up and grasped at his uniform in desperation. Peggy sprung forward. The voice in the back of her head reminded her that the sticky splashes caused by her combat boots that would soon stain was not water. She laid her weapon down next to his shield._

_The young woman – a teenager, perhaps, no older than Peggy when she first joined the British military at most – had crawled her way as best as she could from the carnage on her hands and – oh God. Where should have been her left leg was only ripped, mangled flesh, muscle, and exposed bone. It was only then did the young woman’s cry register._

_“_ Tranquilla, tranquilla _!” Peggy tried to calm her, but she continued to pull at Steve. If she continued in such a manner, she would only further cause damage to her limb and she would continue to lose more blood._

_“_ Tranquilla _.” Steve repeated after her, rattling his own brain for his very limited Italian. He could only repeat the words and phrases he had heard Manelli say previously – and most weren’t exactly appropriate. “_ Siamo amici. Aiutarti _.”_

_The wild desperation in her ragged eyes remained, rightfully so, but her grasp weakened. She calmed. Steve did his best to flash her a small smile of reassurance, anything to tell her that things will be all right, without a language barrier being in their way. He shifted, pulling himself onto his feet, now crouched instead of kneeling. He was about to pull her into his arms when Peggy grabbed his shoulder._

_“We need to take care of that leg before we do anything else – she’s losing too much blood,” she told him. “Help me get her on her back.”_

_“Right,” Steve murmured. “_ Tranquilla _,” he said again._

_“_ Aiutarti _,” Peggy added for good measure, gesturing towards her injured leg._

_The woman started whimpering once more, perhaps at the new wave of pain that she was about to endure. If Peggy could, she would have ensured her that it would soon be over, that this too would pass, but she couldn’t. She could in French, but a lot of help that served her now – Russian, even less._

_“It will be alright – you will be okay,” Peggy said regardless, but the whimpering only grew louder. She glanced up at Steve and gave him a small nod; he did the same in return._

_Together, they turned the woman onto her back, with some protest. Peggy merely assumed it was resistance due to the pain from her leg, but she quickly realized just how wrong she was._

_Peggy reacted immediately. With both hands, she pressed against the woman’s abdomen in an attempt to stop the now perfuse bleeding from the wounds caused by what appeared to be a spray of enemy bullets, just as the boy had described._

_The blood was seeping through Peggy’s fingers; her efforts were futile. They were going to lose her._

_Her ears began to ring, drowning out the sounds of the woman’s cries. Each violent sob caused her abdomen to heavy, for more blood to gush forth. She didn’t hear Steve scurry over to the woman’s other side. He placed his hands over Peggy’s, trying to help provide more pressure._

_But it was too late. The heavies came to a stop._

Dinanzi a me non fuor cose create

_They both turned their heads, to look at the woman’s face for a confirmation they knew to expect, but dreaded regardless._

Se non etterne, e io etterno duro

_Eyes empty and mouth hanging out, void of any further cries, she cast her lifeless gaze up towards the cloudless sky._

Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate.

_There would be no more survivors._

 

**xxxx**

 

The remainder of their time at the zoo, of which they did not see the rest (just the sea lions, as they had intended), was a crash course in both the Martinelli family and the Italian culture.

 

Peggy had two days to commit it all the memory before she would be sent into the field.

 

Agent Carter was on another type of mission: make a good first impression (“ _La bella figura_ is very important, English,” Angie warned. “You only got one chance – don’t mess it up”).

 

No pressure.

 

But Peggy was good at memorizing her mission’s details, official or not.

 

Angie tried to keep it as simple as possible. Don’t bring up certain topics with Papà. Don’t ask Leo about his work, not that getting a straight answer was possible anyway. Don’t turn away seconds from Mamma, unless you wanted the full force of the inferno unleashed.

 

Oh, and they would mostly definitely be returning back home with a tray of lasagna, because Mamma would be convinced they were not eating themselves enough. They would also be taking back the pie they would bring, without a doubt. No one really liked the stuff, but it was a bit rude to come empty handed – and sneaking a pie out of the automat was easy enough (“And besides, we come home with pie, that’s not for nothing”).

 

But why a pie and not a bottle of wine? Peggy had asked. If the pie would go untouched, wouldn’t a bottle of wine be more applicable?

 

It was considered rude (“ _Noooo_!” Angie hissed). A guest bringing over a bottle of wine to a dinner they were invited to gave off the wrong message: it told the hosts that they were unable at providing a complete meal, beverages included. Papà had a cabinet full of wine given by guests, which he begrudgingly accepted – never had touched a single bottle.

 

Peggy dared to ask if bringing a pie would technically also be an insult, as they would be assuming that the dessert would not be provided.

 

Angie had not appreciated the logic (“Dessert’s different, English – and at the end of the night we get it _back_ ” and they had left it at that).

 

It also could have gone without saying: don’t mention Frankie, not that Peggy would have a reason to do so.

 

Oh, and they would be arriving late – by at least half an hour, or even an hour if they wanted to claim to miss the connecting subway. Even though Mamma told them they would be eating at 5, they’d be lucky if the lasagna was out of the oven by 6. Whatever the case, no one expected them to be on time.

 

They ended up being forty-five minutes late; the door was answered by who Peggy rightfully assumed was Angie’s brother, Leo. He had eyed her up and down and only stopped after Angie had slugged him in the shoulder (“Minchia!” he shouted, earning himself a reprimand later by their mother. “Don’t I deserve to know who I provided a getaway car to? What ever happened to that, anyway? Gino waited for _hours_ in front of the Dublin House”).

 

Fifteen minutes later, they were at the diner table in the dining room, the four members of the Martinelli family and Peggy. It was miracle that Mamma Caterina at finished preparing their meal _almost_ on time, Angie, who Peggy now knew to be nearly a spitting image of her mother, would later tell her. It was almost unheard of.

 

Peggy insisted on helping Caterina serve the pieces of homemade lasagna, which smelt delicious, she had mentioned, but Francesca would not have it.

 

“You’re our guest! Take a seat!” Caterina said. “ _Angela, viene e aiuta la tua mammina_!”

 

Angie appeared in the small kitchen, behind Peggy. “ _Sì, sì, certo_ ,” she replied. “Pegs, the seat to the left, next to Papà, is all yours – reserved just for guests.”

 

With the short tour of the apartment she had been given only moments of ago, Peggy found her way into the dining room. The apartment was small enough – and the dining room was only three steps away from the kitchen. Papà Giuseppe was already sitting at the head of the perfectly set table – a robust man, with short, dark hair and a mustache that put Howard’s to shame. Across the table from him was a slender, mini vision of him – the brother Angie gave a dead arm to.

 

Peggy took her indicated seat. As she did, Giuseppe picked up and held out an unmarked bottle of a dark wine in offering (“Even if it aint your thing, English, accept – Papà made it himself”). With her nod, he filled her wine glass generously, another thing Angie also warned her about (“Be prepared to overeat and overdrink – turning anything away is insulting”).

 

After the bottle was placed back onto the table, there was still silence and, well, she was being watched by both men as they probably waited to see what she would do next.

 

Reaching out, she picked up the glass and brought it to her lips for a little sip. The bitter taste was nearly overwhelming, but Peggy didn’t allow her instincts to react.

 

She had braced herself for your everyday table wine, but what Angie had failed to mention that her father’s homemade concoction was anything but – higher alcohol content, that was for certain. It board lined brandy in both taste and color.

 

When she sat her glass back down, she noticed that Giuseppe’s massive mustache twitched. The man was smiling – perhaps in approval? Peggy certainly hoped so.

 

“ _Allora, a mangiare_!” Caterina stated, entering the room with a bright smile and two plates of pasta, which she served to her husband and son. Angie followed behind with three for the rest of them, demonstrating some skills she had picked up at the automat, no doubt.

 

Angie took the empty seat next to Peggy; her mother took her place to her father’s right. All of a sudden, four heads bowed and the sign of the cross was made – Peggy quickly mimicked, not wanting to cause offense.

 

“ _Buon appetito_ ,” Caterina mumbled under her breathe, which was met in response with a murmured _alterttanto_.

 

The first couple of bites were enjoyed in silence before Peggy spoke up, “The lasagna is delicious, Mrs. Martinelli.”

 

“Oh, _grazie tanto, cara_ ,” she grinned (one that Angie instantly mirror). “And _per favore_ , Mrs. Martinelli, _no_. Call me Caterina.”

 

“Caterina,” Peggy corrected herself. “You must be so proud of Angie.”

 

“It’s no big deal,” Angie said, shrugging her shoulders. “It’s just a small radio gig, after all.”

 

“And after,” Giuseppe spoke up in his deep voice. “She can finally put that silly dream behind her and settle down with a nice man.”

 

Peggy’s eyebrow twitched.

 

This was going to be a long dinner.

 

**_To Be Continued_ **


End file.
